Christmas Isn't Coming This Year
by NephilimEQ
Summary: Hermione is being haunted by a ghost this Christmas...but why is it her deceased professor? Whatever does he want with her? And why is it she doesn't want him to leave? MERRY CHRISTMAS! Please Read & Review! Think of it as a gift trade. I give you a story, you give me a review. :)
1. Chapter 1

**Christmas Isn't Coming This Year**

**Chapter 1**

Christmas wasn't coming this year. At least, not for Hermione Granger. For everyone else it was another year of being happy that they were alive, their minds barely lighting on the memories of those who had passed on and hadn't had the chance to be there like everyone else got to this year.

She couldn't think…couldn't breathe. It was almost unreal.

He wasn't there anymore. He was just…gone. They didn't know of course. If they knew… God, if they knew they would have her committed to St. Mungo's in an instant. She was nothing but a pile of nerves, and she just couldn't seem to get herself under control.

She looked down at her hands in her lap where they were shaking.

She gripped her fingers even tighter, trying to hold in the emotion that was trying to escape through her extremities. They could never know how it felt.

How it felt to have someone torn off from you like a limb that you never expected to lose. Like a limb that you never realized how important it was until it was gone.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ron and Harry trying to start a game of Exploding Snap with Bill and George. They were laughing, enjoying themselves. There was some music playing in the background, something that she vaguely recognized, which meant that Mr. Weasley had probably pulled out some of his Muggle music.

She watched as Ginny played with Crookshanks, a ball of yarn weaving its way perilously across the floor around her feet.

She could hear the sound of magical cooking coming from the other room, its sound distinctive from regular cooking as there were more noises coming from the kitchen than there should have been, considering that Molly Weasley was the only one in there.

The smells reached her nose, and she was swept up with nostalgia at some of the scents that greeted her. Gingerbread, hot mint tea, and turkey. All mashed together, the scents were unappealing, but as she separated them out in her mind, each one brought a different memory. The gingerbread reminded her of her mother, when they would make cookies and build a gingerbread house together while her father would try to untangle the Christmas lights in the other room, cursing under his breath the entire time.

The hot mint tea threw her back to memories of Christmas Eve night, sitting at the base of her father's easy chair, both of them sipping the hot liquid and trying not to spill it as her mother would rush by them, quickly placing the last few presents under the tree while Hermione and her father made sarcastic comments at her hurried haze. She could hear her father's tone in her head and see his face, a look on it that her mother detested and told him would ruin his looks one day.

The turkey…of course, the turkey. Christmas Day flung into her memories and she sank a bit deeper into her chair next to the window, almost not wanting to remember those memories.

She had always looked forward to Christmas when she was younger; it had been the one time of year where her parents allowed her to eat as many sweets as she wanted. Not even on Hallowe'en had they allowed her to, and so she had always associated Christmas with sweets and happy memories. At Hogwarts, she had come to love Christmas even more. The lights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes…all of it was truly magical, and for once in her life she had found something that she knew that she had been missing from her life.

But now…it just wasn't the same. After the war, she no longer had a sense of home or security…which was ironic, considering that everyone else seemed to have found it so quickly. Harry had gained a family, and Ron, though having lost a brother, had gained another brother in a sense and he welcomed it. Hermione on the other hand, though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had told her countless times that she was always more than welcome in their home, never felt…a part of it.

Even when in the middle of the crowded and overwhelming family, she felt separated and apart from them. They were just fine with having what they had, and they all seemed to have found a place for themselves and a purpose to the next part of their lives…but she hadn't.

As her gaze moved towards the panes of glass in front of her, her mind went back to him. She _still_ didn't understand it.

How could he have died? How? They had planned everything so carefully…well, as carefully as one could plan a war. In her mind, he never should have died.

His death was pointless, he didn't have to die.

She closed her eyes, trying not to see the memory of his body in his pool of blood. The redness of it seemed to flood behind her closed lids and she felt a sudden pain in her hands. She opened her eyes at the sudden pain and realized that her nails had broken the surface of her skin, causing thin marks of blood to appear on her palm. She glanced around quickly, hoping that no one had noticed her outward sign of pain. With a quick and wordless spell, the marks were gone, along with the pain.

She slowly unclenched them, placing them palm down onto her legs, rubbing her -_not shaking-_steady hands along her denim covered thighs, drying the sweat that had suddenly appeared on her palms with no warning. She needed some clarity…some logical thinking.

That was it.

She needed a book.

Carefully, she unfolded her legs from beneath her and made her way over to her bag that was still next to the door. She had a Notice-Me-Not charm on it; to make sure no one saw it and realize that she was leaving. She had quickly decided for herself that there was no way that she could stay for all of the festivities without wanting to scream in frustration, so she had made sure that she had a getaway plan in place ahead of time in case she needed to leave even earlier than expected.

Quickly, she dug into the daypack and pulled out a book and then headed back to her chair, enjoying the feel of the leather between her fingers, one of the few comforts that she still had.

As she let herself fall through the pages, she found herself getting lost in the story. After a few minutes, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up…but no one was there.

After glancing around the rest of the room, seeing everyone in their respective places, she began to feel worried.

She tried to ignore it, and was finally able to let herself fall back to her reading. It was actually fairly interesting, and she knew that she should be enjoying it…but she wasn't.

Hermione slid a bit deeper into the chair, enjoying the feel of the thick cushions surrounding her…and then she felt it again. Only, this time, the hand lingered and the faint aroma of potion spices reached her nose.

No…no, no, no. She was hallucinating. That was the only explanation for what was happening to her. It was all a hallucination. She quickly closed the book, clasping her hands tightly around the leather cover, certain that it just might crack beneath her hands.

She shut her eyes, trying to block it all out, but doing so only seemed to heighten the feelings. The fingers were strong and firm, yet gentle. The smell was thick, but light. A dichotomy of contrasts, and she was sure that she was about to go crazy.

She _knew_ those fingers…she knew that touch. She knew that scent. In fact, she was probably the only person in the world who knew him in any sort of intimate way at all, and not by purpose of any sort of design, but merely by accident. She had run from the room with the boggart in the small cupboard that she'd been practicing with for the final exam, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and she had run into him by accident. His initial grip had been fierce as he'd shoved her away from his person, a sneer on his lips, his eyes dark…and then she'd glanced up and seen him look briefly over her shoulder and, for the first time in her entire time of knowing him, she'd seen his gaze actually soften. The sneer had faded and he'd lifted his other hand and muttered "_Riddikulus,_" and then made a brief twist of his wand. She hadn't looked back, but she'd heard the faint sound of the creature disappearing from existence.

Hermione had been very aware of the fact that they were still standing fairly close together, more so than would be polite. There truly had been no more than two or three inches between them, and she had been able to smell the lingering hint of wolfsbane and a flower that she could not identify lingering on his robes.

Their eyes had then caught.

The grip on her shoulder had then lessened and he'd given her a look that she had never seen before. His eyes had been almost soft. He'd said nothing. He'd seen what her fear was. Her truest fear. The fear of being rejected by Harry and Ron, her fear of being shunned and left to her life on her own; her teachers, too, annoyed by her presence, merely wanting her out of their classrooms in order to be relieved of her presence.

Why that should garner any sort of kindness from him, she hadn't known at the time, but after the Final Battle she finally understood. After seeing the memories, she finally understood.

And now, feeling the firm yet gentle hand on her shoulder once more and the smell of potions spices in such close proximity, it all added up to one person, but that was absolutely impossible. Absolutely impossible.

She shrugged her shoulders, attempting to rid herself of the sensation. It dissipated and she sighed in relief.

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, still trying to convince herself that none of it was real. However, in the back of her mind, there was a niggling doubt of thought. Maybe—no, no maybes. She loosened her grip on the book in her hands, only then noticing that they had been shaking.

Listening carefully, she registered that Ginny was still in the same room. The sound of Crookshanks' tiny paws scrabbling on the floor attempting to grab at the yarn that Ginny was still tormenting him with was very audible. She waited a few seconds, hoping that she might leave the room, but she didn't. If she started looking around the room, Ginny would notice, and knowing her she would ask what Hermione was doing, and when she would try to reply, Ginny would know immediately that she was lying.

Being careful not to look obvious, she slowly rotated in her chair, sliding forward so that she could maneuver around the armrest. She gave a brief glance over her shoulder, trying to make it look like she was merely stretching her neck.

She couldn't help but smile at Ginny grinning like an idiot at her feline's antics as he tried to yank the yarn out from under her hands.

Then Hermione felt it again, this time on her other shoulder. She swiveled her head, and of course was met with nothing but empty air.

This was getting ridiculous! She had to move around, keep herself from getting too stationary.

And that was when Hermione realized…she wouldn't be staying for any of the evening. She had to leave now. She quickly cast the spell over herself, creating an image of the way she was sitting at that moment, a projection of sorts that would fool them into thinking that she was still there. She found herself undeniably grateful at that moment that she wasn't a part of Molly's clock, where it wouldn't have mattered what she did, Molly would have been able to follow her wherever she went without having to lift a single finger.

She then cast a Disillusionment charm over herself, shivering slightly at the cold feeling that ran down her spine as the charm took hold.

She grabbed her bag from beside the door, and then cast a special charm that allowed a person to go through objects, one that she had looked up and learned specifically for this purpose. She walked through the wall next to the front door. She was not going to give them even the slightest hint that anything was out of sorts.

As soon as she made it beyond the boundaries of their house, she Apparated.

She felt her feet hit the ground and looked around. Yes, she was safe. She had been slightly worried that the anti-Apparition wards around Harry's inherited home might still be up, but it seemed that they had been removed, which was lucky for her. She took the charms off both herself and her bag and headed towards the kitchen.

Her stomach was feeling rather empty as she hadn't eaten anything since the previous night.

She doubted that there was any actual food in the kitchen, but it was at least worth a shot. She stepped into the kitchen, heading straight for the cupboards.

Suddenly, she felt it again. A tingling on the base of her neck…as if she were being watched.

She ignored it, grabbing a box of chocolate biscuits from the first cupboard that she opened. She sat down at the table, clearing off some of the dust that had gathered from it not being used in these many long months since Voldemort's downfall.

As she bit into one, the chocolate flavor coating her tongue, she suddenly found that her appetite had disappeared. What she needed was an escape, not food…and then she smiled as an idea formed in her mind.

* * *

**Part 1/6**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hermione slipped into the claw-footed bathtub that was now filled with wonderfully hot, sudsy water.

As she leaned her head back against the hard porcelain edge of the tub, she felt it again. And then she smelled the same scent that she'd smelled while still at the Weasley's house. What was wrong with her? Was she going absolutely crazy? Or was it something else?

She focused on letting her muscles relax, and then she felt it again.

Alright…this was obviously something that she was going to have to deal with. Any Muggle psychologist would have told her that she was imagining these things to keep him alive…but this was the wizarding world, and normal rules didn't apply there.

She thought it over in her mind as she let her body relax. Once she was physically relaxed, she would be more mentally relaxed.

Then it hit her.

What if it _was_ him? And if it was him, then why did he choose her? They'd had no personal relationship of any kind...but she did understand him to some extent.

She had never truly been with Harry and Ron in the loathing category. She had looked up to him too much for her to loathe him in any kind of way. Hate was out of the question. When she'd looked at him, she'd seen someone who was truly the best at what he did and she had wanted nothing more than to learn from him.

Maybe that was why he was coming to her…if that's what it was.

Of course she could just be going crazy. But she didn't want to believe that that was the case. It _had_ to be him.

But the still the question remained…why the _hell_ had he picked her, of all people, to haunt?

Realizing that she was no closer to solving her problems, she pulled herself out of the tub, reaching for her wand. Suddenly, she felt a cold breeze fill the room, and her body had an all too obvious reaction. She quickly cast a drying spell, as she had no towel, and pulled her bathrobe from her bag next to the door of the bathroom.

After pulling the robe tightly around her body, Hermione slipped out the door into the empty hallway and grabbed her bag, and then headed to what used to be _his_ room.

It was the most secure room in the house, and since she was alone she wanted to feel as secure as possible. Grimmauld Place was downright spooky even when it _was_ full of people.

She pulled out some Notre Dame sweatpants that were once her mother's and slipped them on, along with a pair of thick, slouchy socks, a plain white long sleeved t-shirt and gray jumper.

Layering would be the only way to keep warm in the house that night. From her previous experience, she knew that it could easily drop to freezing temperatures, as the house had virtually _no_ insulation because of the fact that it was at least a hundred years behind the times. Warming spells did little to help to keep the draught from slipping under the frame and eaves.

However, as she began to pull back the covers from the bed, she realized that she wasn't the least bit tired. Maybe some reading would tire her out. It was a tried and true method for her, and had worked many times before when she had been at school, so she put the covers back and left the room.

She quickly went downstairs to the library, lighting a fire in the fireplace with a twitch of her wand.

Walking over to the shelves, she carefully looked over the titles…and that's when one of them caught her eye. _Potions and Pentagrams, _by…no, it couldn't be. She took a closer look at it, pulled it out, and then brushed the dust off of it…but the name remained the same.

It was by Severus Snape.

She hadn't even known that he had written anything, let alone published. How had she not seen this before?

It was quite possible, knowing that sort of library and home that Black had owned, that the library chose what to show her at any given moment.

Hermione walked across the room, absentmindedly brushing back her damp and now drying, unruly hair away from her face, and pulled a cushion from the couch, sitting down in front of the fire. She was suddenly insatiably curious about what he had written, and she knew that there was no getting to sleep now that she had this book in her possession.

Slowly and carefully, she looked at the names of the chapter titles, trying to narrow down what _exactly_ it was about.

She ran her finger down the page, trying to understand… _Chapter 1 - Methods or Moronic Madness: How to Change Bad Habits in Potion Making. _ She snorted mentally at the title. Well, that didn't tell her a thing, but now she was definitely certain that it was by him.

But as she looked further down the page, scanning the chapters, the title of the seventeenth chapter caught her eye…

_Chapter 17 - Meanings Behind the Patronus: Emotional Ties and Potions to Explain Them_

Now _that_ was interesting. Ever since Harry had told her about Severus's patronus being a doe and its' link to his mother, she had always wondered why hers was an otter and what emotional connection had caused it to be that way. Now was the chance to find out.

She flipped to the page and began reading.

"_The full-corporeal Patronus of a witch or wizard is a very unique and singular kind of magic. It is one of the few magics that is psychically bound to the witch or wizard's psyche, as well as being subject to change due to traumatic emotional or physical events. Some witches and wizards that are unable to produce a corporeal Patronus may use the Patronus Potion, which allows the brewer to see the possibilities of the form of their patronus."_

Hermione stared at what she read, surprised at herself for not having thought of it before.

She wondered if her patronus had changed since the war. She hadn't even tried to cast it in…well, in months.

Staring at her wand, which was on the floor next to her, she briefly wondered what it might change into. Ron and Harry had both told her that the otter seemed to fit her personality, but since the war, she knew that it must have changed. Things were no longer always optimistic. She had become much more of a realist…even a pessimist at times.

She reached down and fingered her wand, wondering if she should try. Well…it couldn't hurt, could it?

Carefully placing the book down, she stood up from her position on the floor and gripped her wand firmly in her right hand, and then thought about her happiest memory.

Images from when she received her first Outstanding on a Potions essay and the slight smirk that had crossed Professor Snape's lips flitted into her head. Why that particular memory came into her head, she wasn't sure. It was the only time that he had even come _close_ to looking proud of one of his students. For some reason, that memory lingered.

Hermione's previous happy memory, from before the Final Battle, had been receiving her letter to go to Hogwarts. Knowing that she was a witch was the best thing to ever happen to her…but now it was something she almost wished that she could leave behind. All it had brought her so far was pain and heartache. Life was no easier with magic; if anything, it was even more complicated. Deceit was almost second nature to over half the people in the wizarding world.

She quickly shook those thoughts out of her head and focused on the newest happy memory that now graced the inside stage of her mind. The brief moment that they'd shared in a small unknown corridor in her sixth year of school. The moment where he had ceased for the briefest of moments to be a professor and where she had ceased to be a student. A moment that had, in some way, inextricably linked them together. A moment that now lingered in her like the first sip of mulled mead; warm, heady, but perfectly and absolutely needed. A moment that she had seen him in a way that she was fairly certain that no one else had ever seen him…and now brought a faint smile to her lips and a warmth to her chest.

Focusing on the sensations, she whispered the words in her head, trying to do the spell wordlessly…and she felt it happen.

The blue-white light flowed from the tip of her wand, and she simply stared at what she saw.

* * *

**Part 2/6**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It moved through the room with easy strength, and then it approached her and nuzzled her left hand, which was limp at her side. Hermione marveled for a moment, admiring its long lean lines, similar in some ways to the sinuous lines of her river companion, but now with more predatory intent.

Panthera pardus.

She gave it a tentative, reassuring rub…to which it seemed to respond. It felt almost…solid. Corporeal. Real.

Lovingly, she moved her fingers along its neck and down its flank, marveling at just how much it seemed to be physically imposed on the world around it. She could actually feel its lustrous coat beneath her fingertips and it seemed to almost purr as she brought her nails to work behind its ears. It leaned into her, butting its head against her leg, letting out a low growling sound that sounded like contentment.

For a brief moment, her concentration wavered…

…And then it faded, and she found herself suddenly feeling very much alone.

What did the patronus _mean_, though? Animals always had certain meanings, but this one escaped her. She stared at the empty space where it had disappeared, trying to understand the 'why' behind it, but the reasoning seemed to escape her. Already she was missing its presence beside her.

But then she felt something…no, it wasn't a feeling. It was a sound.

She focused on it, concentrating on it as hard as she could…

_Hermione…Hermione…_

She froze.

No, it couldn't be. But it was. She could recognize that deep tone in an instant. So distinctive.

The previous Gryffindor took a deep breath, collecting herself. It couldn't really be him; she knew that it couldn't be. But at the same time, her thoughts from when she had been in the tub earlier had surfaced, and she realized that because she was in the wizarding world, anything was possible.

She slowly sat down on the couch, not trusting her knees to hold her up and keep her steady.

"Pro…Professor? Sev…Severus? Is…Is that you?"

She hesitated on saying his first name, but he had said hers, and he'd never said it in his entirety of years of teaching her, so she decided to take a chance. First names, in the wizarding world at least, held a certain amount of magical power. The more unique the name, the greater the hold it held over a person. Perhaps that was why Harry's parents had given him such a simple name, ensuring that he could never be used by any dark forces attempting to get at him. And perhaps that was why pure bloods prided themselves on such unique names. _Such as Draco_, she thought to herself and mentally snorted.

Suddenly, a breeze swept by her and she knew that it had to be him. No windows were open, and neither was the front or the back door. And it wasn't cold enough to be a draught from outside. Then she heard his voice again.

_Hermione…_

Suddenly, on an impulse, she cast her Patronus a second time, focusing on keeping it corporeal for as long as possible…and then she could smell the scent. Wolfsbane and the flower that she'd never been able to identify. And she could hear him even more clearly than before…

"_Hermione…Hermione…"_

She felt her breath catch in her chest. It wasn't just a thought in her mind…it was an actual sound. She could hear the faint echo as the words fell through the air and it shook her to her core. She soon became aware of the fact that her wand was shaking, but then recognized that it wasn't her wand, it was her hand.

She tightened her grip on her wand, arresting the movement. She was having too much of a physical reaction to the sound of his voice and the fact that she was finally hearing her first name on his lips. She had always wondered what it would sound like if he had said her name. It was better than she could have hoped for. His low sibilant tones caressed every syllable and letter of her name, as though he was all too familiar with saying it, as though he had said it a thousand times before.

Hermione shivered slightly, wondering if the chill was simply from the temperature in the room, or from his now almost palpable presence.

Then she felt it.

A faint, almost invisible, touch against her left shoulder…like a reassuring hand trying to give her comfort. She looked, but, of course, there was nothing there. However, she could still feel it, and a wave of sheer calmness swept through her and she felt wetness in the corner of her eyes at the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

She felt her knees go weak, and suddenly felt herself sliding to the floor.

It was too much…it was simply just too much.

Hermione's thoughts raced around in her head, trying to process what was happening to her. She was being haunted…that was the only explanation.

However, the thought from when she was in the tub earlier ricocheted around her mind. But why had he chosen her? Why wasn't he haunting the dungeons of Hogwarts and his old chambers? What made her so unique that he had decided to haunt her?

No explanation surfaced to her mind, so she tried to shut the thoughts away, but they continued to persist.

She quickly stood back up, and headed back towards the bookshelf, looking for anything that might pull her thoughts away. She did. And she took it.

Nearly an hour later, she had nearly forgotten what had transpired, but it still lingered around her, like a fine dust in the air that moved with every minute movement that she made, and it was maddening, driving her slowly insane in degrees.

Finally, she put the book down and stood back up, facing the fire in the fireplace, which had died down to a few meager flames as she hadn't been tending it over the past hour.

She snagged the fire poker off of the stand to the side and then absently turned a few logs over, her mind lingering on what it all could mean.

They _had_ shared a moment together, but that shouldn't have been enough for him to single her out from beyond the grave. There had to be something more involved. Maybe…maybe it had to with the season? Perhaps there really _was_ something magical about Christmas?

As it was the only thought that seemed to have any merit, she put the poker down and went back over to the bookshelf, hoping to find a book that would reveal itself to her in her time of need. Hermione had the vague idea that the house was magically aware of its' occupants, if not sentient, and she was determined to find what she needed amongst the books in front of her; but as she started to scan the titles once more, from the corner of her eye she saw the fire flare green, and Arthur Weasley's face appeared.

"Hermione? Are you there?"

She thought for a brief moment to hide, but then decided that he just might be able to help her out.

Hermione stepped into view and said, "Yes, Arthur. I'm here." And then she knelt down in front of the fireplace, absently placing a cushioning charm beneath her knees as she did so.

He let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank heavens you are, Hermione! We realized after we had called you several times to come to dinner what you had done. Ron and Ginny were, of course, angry, but Harry, Molly, the boys and myself were simply worried. We waited about an hour to see if you had just gone out for a bit, but then started to wonder where you'd gone. We checked a few other places first, and then Harry suggested Grimmauld Place…should have known you'd go there. Least likely to be disturbed in that place."

She nodded, giving him a faint smile, grateful that he understood.

He then said, "I know you're not a fan of large gatherings, right now, Hermione, but I just wanted to make sure that you're safe. Did you get any food?"

"Well…no, not really." There was no reason to lie about it. "A few chocolate biscuits, but not much else."

He gave her a look and said, "I'll send some food by owl, as it tends to get soot on it if you send it by Floo and it's hard to get off, even with a few cleaning spells. Besides, even if you _had_ already eaten, Molly would still insist that I send some of her food along."

She nodded.

"Thank you, Arthur. Oh, and before you go," she added, trying to make it seem like a random question, "Is there anything special about Christmas in the wizarding world that actually makes it, you know, magical? Like, any sort of legends or stories? I'm looking for some new reading, you see."

He nodded.

"Of course there are…in fact, I'll send a couple of books along as well. Is that all?" She nodded. "Alright, then. Keep yourself warm! That house is draughty, after all."

"I will, Arthur. Thanks for the food. And the books!"

"Of course, Hermione. You are like a second daughter to us, so just remember that you're always welcome in our home…"

She gave him a nod and a grateful smile and said, "Thank you, Arthur. See you in a few days."

With that, they ended the Floo call and she ended the cushioning charm on the floor beneath her knees. She sat back on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her and wondered how long she would have to wait. Grimmauld Place wasn't exactly close to the Burrow. It would probably take most of the night. Until then, she would simply have to make do with what she had. Which wasn't much.

She thought about getting up from the floor, but quickly dismissed the notion and instead used a small stream of wandless magic to move the book that she had been reading before Arthur had called back to her hands.

She continued to read and her eye caught upon a paragraph near the end of the chapter.

"_In extraordinarily rare cases, a witch or wizard's Patronus can become nearly completely corporeal and impose its magical essence into the natural world around it. This includes texture, smell, and reaction to external, non-magic__al__ stimuli. This only can occur in either one of two extenuating circumstances, the first one being the sudden loss of a loved one; usually a spouse or an extremely close relative. The second case is in a sudden shift of personal morals and beliefs; e.g., in a time of war. Within these two possibilities, however, it is much more common for a witch or wizard'__s Patronus to shift slightly,__ become out of focus__, or to simply change altogether__. __The rarest of all instances is if the caster's Patronus not only changes completely, but at the same time becomes corporeal. __The reason behind the corporeal imprint of the Patronus, through my own thorough research, is dependent on three components: the caster's ability (which includes focus, experience, and adeptness), the wood of the wand*, and__, __in case of the first in__stance (the loss of a loved one)__ the bond between that of the c__aster and the one that was lost, but in the case of the second instance (shift of personal/moral beliefs) then the degree of shift in a caster's moral center.__"_

Hermione stared at the page, slightly stunned at what she had just read, and then found her eyes drawn down to where the footnote was on the bottom of the page that referred to the second component. The type of wood used for the wand.

Quickly, while still keeping a finger on her page, she flipped to the back of the book to the Appendix on Wand Woods, written and annotated by Ollivander himself.

She was slightly worried that she wouldn't be able to find it very quickly, but found that it was in alphabetical order and found it nearly immediately.

Running her hand down the page, she found vine wood and carefully read the passage…

"_**Vine Wood: **__The druids considered anything with a woody stem as a tree, and vine makes wands of such a special nature that I have been happy to continue their ancient tradition. Vine wands are among the less common types, and I have been intrigued to notice that their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best. Vine wands seem strongly attracted by personalities with hidden depths, and I have found them more sensitive than any other when it comes to instantly detecting a prospective match. Reliable sources claim that these wands can emit magical effects upon the mere entrance into their room of a suitable owner, and I have twice observed the phenomenon in my own shop.__"_

Hermione's fingers lingered on the last few words of the paragraph, not quite believing what she was reading. She was one of those two; she was certain of it. She distinctly remembered the day that she had first walked in to Ollivander's shop. On the second shelf from the top, three rows back, there had been a flurry of gold and green sparks.

She remembered the look that the wand maker had given her as he'd retrieved her wand from the shelf and then handed it to her, but she hadn't really cared at the time, too eagerly focused on getting her wand to pay any attention to strange, old shopkeepers, even though it wasn't any old shop that he ran, but a wand shop. She had been solely centered on receiving her very first wand. She had read up on wandlore, of course, before getting her wand, and she knew that it was possible that she would have to change wands, but she'd hoped that she was one of the few who didn't have to.

And she was fairly certain that she was.

She flipped back to the page that she'd kept her finger in and stared at it, her fingers absently rubbing over the words that she knew that Severus had written. It seemed to make her feel much more connected to him.

And then she heard it again…

"_Hermione."_

She sat up straight, looked around the room and then slowly stood, determined to not run away from it this time.

"I'm here, Severus," she said out loud to the room, proud of the fact that she hadn't stumbled over his name. The more confident she appeared to be, the more confident she felt.

The temperature in the room suddenly plummeted, very much like it had in the bathroom, only more so this time. Her breath came in shuddering gasps and she could now see it columns of pale smoke that fell like soft clouds into the air.

Her sweater no longer kept her warm, even though she wrapped her arms more tightly around her waist.

"Severus?"

A slow frost began to appear on the books and the edge of the fireplace…and then the fire, the one that she had just stoked only minutes ago; the one that she had made up to a large, fiery blaze…guttered out. Gone. And she felt her hope go out with it.

This was not good.

* * *

**Part 3/? (I've decided I don't know how many chapters this is going to take, but it will be worth it, I promise!)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The temperature continued to drop and Hermione felt her nose, lips, and the tips of fingers start to go numb, along with the tips of her ears.

"Se…Sev…Severus?" she chattered out, her jaw uncontrollably shaking because of the cold.

"_Hermione…I'm here. Please…let me through…I'm not supposed to be here…"_

Tightening her shaking fingers around her wand, she lifted her hand, unsure of what she was supposed to do. She knew a countless number of spells, but she knew of nothing that could open up doorways between…well, wherever _he_ was and where _she_ was, so she was at a loss.

Besides, he had _died_. Passed on to the other side, and the only type of magic that even touched upon that subject was only found in Dark Arts texts, of which she'd barely read any. The few that Hogwarts had had were very carefully selected and held nothing in their writings about contacting the other side. She knew, however, in _theory_, that it was only done at an incredible risk to the spell caster, and she was unsure if she was even skilled enough to do such a spell _if_ it even existed.

Her fingers absently squeezed her wand, and then her eyes flitted to the bookshelves in the room and an idea emerged in her mind.

This _was_ the Black family home, after all. They would probably have exactly what Hermione needed in order to do what Severus…_if_ it was him…was asking.

Cautiously, she slipped her wand into her back pocket and approached the bookshelf, unsure of what she was looking for.

She didn't know how the books were organized, there didn't seem to be any apparent order to them. The titles weren't in alphabetical order, neither were the authors, and the groupings didn't make much sense to her…wait a second. The groupings.

Carefully, she pulled her wand back out and cast a subtle charm to check for magical auras and signatures…and smiled when she saw that she was right. She slipped her wand back into her pocket.

The top left seemed to give off the least dark auras and as the books went to the right and down, they gave off darker and darker auras, until she made her way all the way over to bottom right corner of the broad wall of books. If there was anything on contacting the spirit world or even breaking through it, this was where she would find it. Some of the titles chilled her, and when her fingers approached some of the books, they could go no further than half an inch above the spine of the book, as though they were protected by dark enchantments.

Most likely, she rationalized, knowing how the Black family thought about Muggle-borns, it only recognized purebloods and were safe-guarded against someone like _her_ touching them. Luckily, it didn't matter, as she found a book whose title was promising. It was the last book on the shelf. And, oddly enough, it didn't seem to give off a dark aura, but was somewhere in between, and lingered at a murky grey.

_Through the Veil and Back Again, by Gary de Falgand._

As she reached for it, she was relieved that she was able to grip it and then pull it out without any difficulty.

She looked at the chapter titles and scanned them, trying to find which title was most applicable to her situation. Soon enough, she found what seemed to be the right place to start. Chapter 6: Contacting Voices beyond the Veil.

That seemed to be just what she needed.

She sat back down on the couch and ignored the freezing temperature, though it was slightly difficult to do as her fingers were now aching each time she turned a page from the cold that had seeped into her hands and seemed determined to stay.

But then her eyes lit upon what seemed to be the perfect solution…and it didn't even break any unspoken rules that she was aware of. There was no blood magic involved, no curses, no oaths to unknown entities, no irregularities with how the spell had to be performed. In fact, it seemed straight forward and to the point; precise and clear.

"Why not?" she said to herself as she stood up and pulled out her wand once more.

She re-read the text several times, and then looked at the instructions for the wand movement. Carefully, she practiced the movement several times before daring to speak any words.

But when she spoke the words, she did it without her wand, making sure that the syllables rolled off her tongue effortlessly. The words sounded like they were…well, she wasn't _entirely_ sure, but almost Nordic. Possibly dating back to Viking times?

That would make sense, she mused to herself as she silently practiced the wand movements again. The Vikings _were_ obsessed with the afterlife, after all.

After a few more tries, both with the gesture and with the words, she took a deep breath and readied herself.

Gently, but firmly, she drew her wand in a sideways figure eight two times before tailing it off to the right and then said in a clear tone, "Ég kalla að hinum megin…Leyfðy mé að raust hans…*" She then repeated it one more time, as well as repeating the wand movements, and then felt exactly what the book had told her that she would feel; a faint trickle of heat down her spine and along the back of her neck.

Hermione waited for a long moment, and then distinctly heard a voice in her ear say, "You stupid girl, you can _already_ hear me, so this spell is utterly _useless_ to you. You might as well have just cast a spell to show you how to _see_ with your _eyes_. And your pronunciation is atrocious! I'm surprised you even got the spell to work at all! It's useless!"

She was surprised to hear herself giggle, and clapped a hand over her mouth. She had never giggled before like that in her life! Oh, alright, perhaps when having a girls night in with her roommates at Hogwarts, but why would she do so to the sound of her professor's voice? But at least now she knew that it was really him who was contacting her, and not some malicious spirit that had been lingering around or haunting her.

Tentatively, while trying not to smile, she said, "Well, then, Professor, what spell _would_ you recommend?"

She could practically hear his eyes rolling as he said, "Chapter fourteen, _obviously_. It should be the fifth one down on the third page."

Hermione sat back down and took a look at the page that he'd told her to, and she gave herself a reproach for being so stupid. Of course! This was the perfect spell. The chapter title was _Seeing the Unseen_, and the spell was called the En Anima spell. Literally translating to "see the soul".

Blushing slightly at not seeing the obvious, she went over the spell, doing the same with it that she'd done with the other one.

After a moment, she put it together.

It was simpler than the other one and could be done nonverbally. In fact, the book even encouraged the spellcaster to do this particular spell nonverbally, as you only wanted to see _one_ spirit, and not go calling on every spirit within hearing range of your voice, which made perfect sense to her.

Mere seconds after she'd completed the spell, she could see the faint outline of someone standing just in front of the couch to her right.

She stared in amazement, absolutely fascinated by what was happening, unsure of how she should react. More than several thoughts were racing through her head all at the same time, and she tried to quiet them down by simply focusing on what was in front of her.

The image slowly solidified into that of her old Potions and Defense Professor, but then stopped at a point that had just the outer edges of him slightly blurred.

"Pro…Professor...?"

He already had his arms crossed over his chest and he glared at her and said, "Would you _stop_ calling me that? I am no longer your professor and you seemed _perfectly_ comfortable earlier calling me by my given name, so _don't_ stop now, or would you rather that I go back to calling you _Miss Granger?_"

She shuddered at that and shook her head.

"No, no. You're right, of course. Severus it is."

He gave her a short nod.

"Thank you, Hermione. _Much_ obliged," he said, the sneer evident in his tone as well as on his lips. "Now, could you care to tell me why my immortal soul can't seem to accept the fact that its' body is gone, rotting under a tomb, and seems to _insist_ on tagging along your magical coattails for the past year?"

She looked at him in shock, not quite believing what she was hearing. She had thought that…

He suddenly snorted and said, "Oh, it appears that the know-it-all is only a know-it-_mostly , _as it seems that you were unaware of the fact that for most of the year I have been inextricably _stuck_ to you. How bloody typical. I finally try to find some peace and quiet, but instead it seems I am doomed to eternal _torment_ from the most _annoyingly_ persistent student that I've ever had!"

She was about to fling out a stinging retort, but then bit her lip, unsure of whether or not what he had just said had been an insult or a backhanded compliment.

Finally, she said, "Thank you," and couldn't help a slightly smug grin cross her lips at the look on his face.

He had obviously been trying to insult her, but it hadn't worked, so he said nothing.

Hermione stared at him, trying to figure out just what was going on and why he had somehow clung to her when neither of them had done anything to make it happen. The only logical explanation was that it was an outside source, something immensely powerful, and yet incredibly subtle, as she had not even noticed it until nearly a year later. She tapped a finger against her lips, her right arm slung around her own waist, her wand dangling from her fingertips.

Suddenly, Snape rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I know _that _look. Trying to figure out what your next move will be, Granger? I will _tell_ you. It involves something called _logic_, which-"

She cut him off, upset at the fact that he'd interrupted her chain of thought.

"Which I have in abundance, since I solved your little logic puzzle my first year at Hogwarts, something that most full-grown wizards could _not_ do, so kindly shut up while I try and figure this out."

He did, more in surprise at her candor than in obedience. The know-it-all annoyance had apparently developed a backbone over the years, and, though he hated to admit it in his body-less state, he was fairly impressed by how easily she had not been cowed by his usual intimidation tactics. He had seen the beginnings of it the year that he'd taught Defense.

At seeing this, he waited.

After a few moments, she simply shook her head.

"I _still_ don't get it. How could any spell have caused this? Even on accident?"

He rolled his eyes, yet again, and said, "How about you consult a _book?_ That's what you're good at, isn't it?"

She glared at him and instinctively raised her wand and was shocked to find that as she did, the faded edges of his image solidified and she gave him a look. She pulled her wand away, and watched in fascination as the edges of his image blurred, and then as she moved it forward they solidified, yet again.

"Curious…"

He raised an eyebrow at her word.

"I thought that you were a _witch_, not some blonde bimbo tripping and falling down rabbit holes."

She ignored his jab and tested her theory a few more times, and was intrigued by the fact that it yielded the same result every time. Someway, somehow, his essence seemed to be linked to her wand, which she didn't even know was possible…but, she really couldn't be sure, as wandlore was one subject that she was not well-read on.

Finally, she said, "Well, Severus. It looks like we're stuck together. So as long as my wand exists, apparently, so do you."

He looked at her and she gave him a mocking smile.

Yes, they were stuck together.

* * *

**Part 4/?**

**A.N. - *roughly translates to, _"I call to the other side...Let me hear his voice..."_**


End file.
